


and if that mockingbird don’t sing

by notsowearypilgrim



Series: the tinsel series [6]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adjustment period for new parenthood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Human Baby Yoda, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, din is the best dad, he loves his boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsowearypilgrim/pseuds/notsowearypilgrim
Summary: “It’s okay.” Din stretches his legs and shifts the kid to sit on his stomach. “No crib. You can stay with me.”He’s pretty sure the kid understands, because he snuggles in close again and lays his head on Din’s chest.OrThe kid has a bad dream, and Din discovers that maybe he’s got what it takes to be a dad.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Series: the tinsel series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679791
Comments: 14
Kudos: 199





	and if that mockingbird don’t sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epsiloneridani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/gifts).



He doesn’t jump this time when the crying wakes him, even though the loud beeping and the late hour make it all the more jarring. 

The hospital cribs are…weird. Definitely more cage-like than the ones he vaguely remembers from his foster home. But they allow IV lines and other equipment to be positioned all around the bed, so Din can at least appreciate their function. 

He blinks the grit out of his eyes and is half out of his chair before he even registers that he’s moved. The kid is clutching the rungs, eyes big and swimming with frightened tears. 

“Hey.” Din clears his throat and  raises his voice to be heard  above the incessant beeping. “Hey, kid. You’re okay.”

Judging by the loud wail, the little one doesn’t believe him. He lifts his arms and cries harder. Din sighs.

“Alright.”

The nurse said it was okay to hold him, as long as Din was careful of the IV and oxygen tubing. Gingerly, he scoops his hands under the kid’s arms and lifts him away from all the medical equipment. He barely gets the kid’s legs clear of the sides of the crib before those little hands are grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer. Din huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, and lets him cuddle on his shoulder.

“You’re okay.” 

He gets a shaky sniffle in reply. Din sighs again. Once he’s gotten all of the tubes draped out of the way, he sits down and starts to run through the basic childcare list the nurse had given him.

It’s not hunger; he had a full bottle two hours ago when Din had rocked him to sleep. He’s got a clean diaper, he’s warm, and the bandage that’s keeping the IV away from his tiny fingers doesn’t seem to be too tight. 

Frowning, Din looks up at the beeping monitor on the wall. His stomach knots - the kid’s heart rate is elevated. Now that he’s paying attention, Din can feel it hammering against his chest. 

A nightmare, then. Din adjusts his hold so it’s easier for the kid to press his face into the side of his neck. The silent offer is immediately accepted. It takes a few minutes of internal debate before Din can figure out what to do with his hands. Eventually, he keeps one of his arms underneath the kid, cradling him, and uses his other hand to rub small circles on his back. 

He can’t help but feel stupid. He carried the little guy away from his burning home not even two full days ago. The kid’s been in the hospital since then for smoke inhalation, and Din had begged off of work to stay with him since nobody else was able to calm him down. The trauma is still fresh on this boy, and Din should have seen the nightmares coming. 

He shoves the internal lecture to the back of his mind for later, and focuses on the frightened child in his arms. It takes close to half an hour, but eventually the kid settles. Din glances down at him.

“You wanna lay down again?”

The kid sits up with a puzzled look. Din motions to the crib and starts to stand up, repeating his question. 

Instantly, the kid’s heart rate spikes and he clings to Din like a koala. He lets out one loud cry that’s almost a scream.

“Okay, okay.” Din sits back down and soothes him. “No crib. Got it.”

Another whimper. Din blows out a breath, ruffling the kid’s hair as he does. “Guess we’re bunk mates for the night, huh?”

The kid lets out a questioning gurgle. He pats Din’s chest with his bandaged arm, and tearfully cooes at him in what almost sounds like a demand. 

“It’s okay.” Din stretches his legs and shifts the kid to sit on his stomach. “No crib. You can stay with me.”

He’s pretty sure the kid understands, because he snuggles in close again and lays his head on Din’s chest.

Din starts those small circles on his back again in hopes of lulling him back to sleep. The chair is uncomfortable - standard hospital issue - but since they’re on the pediatric floor it doubles as a rocking chair. Din slowly begins a gentle rhythm, still rubbing the kid’s back and trying not to think about the fact that whatever nightmare that had roused him had made him look every bit as frightened as he had been when Din had found him outside of a burning house. 

He keeps it up, rocking and circling, for over an hour. But the kid is still wide awake, turning his head every so often to look around the room and occasionally up at Din. 

When he starts to play with Din’s mustache, Din makes a decision. It’s three in the morning. It’s time for desperate measures. 

He spent his early childhood hiding from thunderstorms underneath his blankets. He remembers hating the way the thunder made the house shake. He remembers being convinced that the walls were going to collapse on top of him. 

But he also remembers hearing his door open, and feeling his mattress dip under his mother’s weight. She would crawl under the blankets with him and hold him close, and there in the dark quiet she would sing to him. Her voice had reduced the thunder to mere background noise, but it’s been so long since anyone has comforted Din that way. After a few minutes of struggling through hazy and painful memories, he thinks he has enough of the words and the tune to do the job. 

He clears his throat, fiercely glad Cara isn’t here to see him and praying the nurse won’t come in.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”

The kid’s head pops up immediately. He seems to be wondering whether Din has gone crazy. Din can’t really blame him, so he just shrugs and keeps going.

“Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. 

And if that mockingbird don’t sing, 

Daddy’s gonna buy you a diamond ring….”

Halfway through, he’s rewarded with a bright smile that crinkles the kid’s nose. It makes Din smile too, though it doesn’t make him stop; he gently pulls the kid back down to his chest and keeps singing. His voice is off-key, not to mention rough with exhaustion, but before he even gets through the first verse he can hear the kid snoring quietly.

Din trails off, glancing down to confirm that the little one is sound asleep. One round cheek is smushed against his shirt front and a hand is clutching a fistful of his shirt sleeve. The other hand is wrapped around Din’s thumb.

Without really meaning to, Din runs his finger over the back of the tiny hand. 

The social worker is coming tomorrow, to evaluate Din and also to give him the kid’s background information. The odds are good they’ll let Din keep him, and for the first time the thought doesn’t terrify him. After all, if he can handle nightmares, if he can manage to sing a lullaby, then the rest of it should be more than doable. 

Din looks down at the round, sleepy face: for now, the kid is peaceful. His innocence, coupled with the knowledge of what he’s already lost, makes Din’s throat feel tight. He’s suddenly hit by the realization that he’d sing a thousand lullabies for this boy to sleep safely through the night.

“We’re gonna be okay, kid.” He carefully smooths one finger down his cheek, and keeps his voice soft. “So long as you can stand my singing, I think we’ll be just fine.”

He smiles, and lowers his head to rest on top of the messy dark hair as he drifts off to find sleep of his own.


End file.
